There is a good deal of mere mental and logical sanctification nowadays, which is only a religious fiction. It consists of mentally putting one's self on the altar, then mentally saying the altar sanctifies the gift, and then logically concluding therefore one is sanctified; and such a one goes forth with a gay, flippant, theological prattle about the deep things of God.

But the natural heartstrings haven't been snapped, and the Adamic flint hasn't been ground to powder, and the bosom has not throbbed with the lonely, surging sighs of Gethsemane; and not having the real death marks of Calvary, there cannot be that soft, sweet, gentle, floating, victorious, overflowing, triumphant life that flows like a spring morning from an empty tomb.